


Clean Water

by importantmetaphors



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke Secret Santa, Canonverse AU, Clarke was never in lock up, F/M, Finding Peace, Fluff, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Light Smut, Luna adopts half the delinquents, Open Ending, jake is alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:08:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21957169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/importantmetaphors/pseuds/importantmetaphors
Summary: "It's the Griffin girl," she whispers, a mix of urgency and astonishment accompanying her shift in demeanor."As in, the daughter of Councilwoman Griffin?" Bellamy asks, equally surprised.Raven nods."She was in the pod that came down first. Part of the deal I made with Abby."Canonverse AU where the Griffins' punishment is a little different, Bellamy leads a group of reckless delinquents on his own, and shelter is found far from the ground.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake & Clarke Griffin, Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 203





	Clean Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrostedGemstones22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostedGemstones22/gifts).



> Written for the Bellarke Secret Santa 2019 exchange! This is loosely based on the prompt "early Bellarke (season 1)".  
> Happy holidays, everyone!! 
> 
> This totally got away from me. Other assignments piled up and I turned out to have only half a week to complete this, so I'm sorry if the writing is sloppy/plot not properly developed or if you come across some errors/typos that I missed. I hope you enjoy this nevertheless!
> 
> Constructive criticism is very welcome, as are comments of any kind!
> 
> Title comes from "Clean Water" by Sleeping at Last. You can find the **[moodboard here](https://important-metaphors.tumblr.com/post/189925069235/clean-water-its-the-griffin-girl-she-whispers)** and a **[playlist here](https://important-metaphors.tumblr.com/post/189937711005/a-playlist-for-clean-water-clean-water-is-a)** if you prefer to listen to it while reading.

* * *

When they finally reach the shore, the sky is painted in large splotches of dark clouds and the smell of rain keeps teasing Bellamy's nose. 

Whether it be from his short time on the ground compared to an entire lifetime of dull scents and dull everything or something else, he’s found he has this peculiar knack for feeling when a downpour is about to come. It exhilarated him the only two times it happened before, kept him on his toes despite all the fear and the anger piled up in him. Now it merely smells like washed-off blood and ashes of the dead.

 _The dead that shot arrows at them and marched with weapons into their camp and burned so everyone else could live_ , Bellamy reminds himself. Everyone else; the group of teenagers filled with resentment and confusion and determination to the brim. His people.

He stops moving altogether for a moment and breathes in and out. The wind blows with every inhale and whistles with every exhale, making the branches of the trees sway and the water foam in the distance. 

Collins and Mbege quarrel with Raven in the background, bringing her stretcher next to him and gently setting her on the ground at her insistence. She masks a painful cry with a grunt and a curse and struggles to prop some of her weight on one elbow, futilely. Bellamy’s gaze slides to the makeshift bandage around her leg, her bloodshot eyes, the dark circles underneath.

She’s seen better days, perhaps more so than the rest of them, but before he can argue with her that she has to stay put, Monty is at her side, unfolding the map Lincoln tore out of his book for them. Raven holds the map up to go through every little detail and her index finger guides their attention, so Bellamy crouches down as well to hear her out. 

“East to the sea. That’s east,” she grumbles, eyes moving wildly on the piece of paper. “Help me up,” she presses. Collins touches her hip to placate her and Harper fusses about her leg. 

"You've been _shot_ , Raven. You need the rest."

"What for?" she demands, desperation creeping into her tone.

Jasper then jogs up towards them with new information that turns out not to be information at all, words tumbling out of his mouth in-between gasps.

"I can't see anything. There's no village." 

Panic morphs into horror and that, in turn, gives way to a loud hammering against Bellamy's ribcage. _Now what?_

A restlessness is detected all around, to put it mildly. He can make out an incoherent anguish from the crowd, Miller's shouts over the rest of the yelling, half of Jasper's descriptions muffled by the noise, Raven begging everyone to shut up as she buries her nose in the map once again.

In the din of voices, adrenaline flows in Bellamy's veins in a way that's familiar and, from then on, his mouth has a mind of its own.

He knows what to do and they know to listen.

He barks out orders at the tops of his lungs, much like he did days ago, right as they went into a war with their hands unstained, their conscience clean and a plan to burn the invaders to the ground. 

The roar booming in his chest and the flurry of activity that follows is what has worked best for the living. Bellamy tries to expel the doubts and the regret about the fate of the dead, _their_ dead. 

The clouds are looming and the sun will be setting soon. There's no time for that now.

Collins moves to scout the place with Monroe and Mbege and rifles in their hands, and Harper takes charge of the sleeping accommodations, making groups of five and six for each of the ten small tents that are set back in the forest. One of the groups goes to collect firewood, another organizes the remaining rations and the supplies and a third arranges the patrols. They set a tarp on the ground for Raven to get comfortable in her first watch with Bellamy and Miller and a larger one above their heads to shelter them from the rain.

By the time they’ve agreed upon some kind of schedule for the patrols and where they’ll be heading tomorrow, roughly, there’s barely enough light for them to move about. Everyone retires to their tents to ease some of the fatigue, but Jasper and Monty join them in a circle, rubbing their hands together for warmth. 

“Too many trees. We can’t light a fire,” Monty points out, the heel of his boot kicking the log he’s sitting on softly.

"I _might_ have something that’s close enough,” Jasper retorts lightly and unzips his jacket, pulling out a flask. He takes a generous swig after he pops the lid open and Miller snorts. He grabs the moonshine when handed to him and follows suit. 

“To seeking safe passage,” Miller snarks, raising the flask in the air.

Monty shakes his head. “We must be missing something. We got to the sea. We saw the crosses. There must be an explanation for why they’re gone.”

Miller’s expression shifts, like he’s about to voice exactly what he thinks the explanation is, but Bellamy speaks first, well aware doubting Lincoln is pointless and a waste of time right at this instant. It’s not like he trusts him yet, either, but this was their only hope and only choice.

“What crosses?” Bellamy asks, alert. 

Raven motions for him to move closer with her head and shows him the map again. “This,” she says. “We thought it was a village, but it’s just a bunch of rocks by the sea.” 

Raven refuses to drink and it gets passed over to Bellamy. "Stay sharp," he cautions, pointing a warning finger at the group and letting the moonshine cool his tongue and burn his throat. He shivers as it flows down to his empty stomach.

The flask makes another round and then it returns back to its rightful place, in the jacket of Jasper's inner pocket.

"Saving that for later," he needlessly announces and suddenly it doesn't ring needless to Bellamy's ears at all. On the contrary, it must be the most hopeful, optimistic words that could have crossed his mind since the moment they stepped foot on sand and tasted salt in the air.

The pitch black sky flashes with light, startling them, and Bellamy counts to nine before thunder roars in the distance.

"Storm's coming," Miller mumbles and Raven holds his eyes.

"'Wouldn't be the first now, would it?" 

::

::

::

Bellamy is woken with a sudden, repeated push on his arm, way too violent to be coming from someone who just came to declare it’s dawn. His name follows, the whisper turning into an urgent hiss when he tosses around on the material of the tent sticking with humidity. A tapping rhythm has built on the top of the tent and Bellamy barely makes out the outline of darker tracks of rain against the sides of it.

A cold droplet of something he can’t make out drops on his exposed forearm and he bolts upright as if he’s been burned, only to be met with Monty’s face twisted in the most perplexing feeling Bellamy can’t put a finger on. 

Bellamy clenches his eyes shut and rubs at them. He must have fallen deeper into sleep than he thought he would, what with staying half-awake for the entirety of the past week.

“Bellamy,” Monty calls again from the spot where he’s kneeled on the ground, hair dripping wet.

“What is it?” Bellamy presses, coughing a little to get rid of the gravel in his voice. His gaze drifts around the confined space and all he encounters is five pairs of eyes staring back at him, five mouths with lips parted open, five people expecting something he surely doesn’t have to give.

“Jasper used a lighter to burn the torn end of his shoelace,” Sterling blurts out in a rush, his words getting mixed up inside the brain that has yet to function in Bellamy’s head. “There were small twigs around. The fire turned _green_ ,” he adds excitedly, as if this should appeal to Bellamy as some kind of rational conclusion. 

“Slow down,” he instructs, authoritative. “Take it from the start.” 

Monty does the rephrasing. “Throwing tree branches in the fire makes it green. We think it’s some kind of signal. We have to give it a try, at least.”

“We can’t light a fire right now,” Bellamy reminds him. “How would we make one big enough while it’s still raining, anyway?”

“Burn down a tree, if we have to,” Tim mutters under his breath.

Monty shoots him a glare. “We will not burn down an entire forest just to take a chance.”

Bellamy can’t find it in him to put much of the blame on the kid. He’s fourteen, distressed and disappointed. “Not an option,” he fills in, searching for a diplomatic enough answer. “We’d attract way more attention than we want to. Right now, we only need to be noticed by Luna and Luna’s people.” He takes a long moment to think, coming up short. He wonders if they should wake Raven, even though she’s had more than enough on her plate lately. 

As if reading his mind, her voice becomes distinct amongst the rest of the confused whispers in the tent right next to theirs. 

“There’s still dry wood from earlier. Some tree branches, too,” Monty offers quickly. “We just have to get to the beach again and transfer a dry substrate and a cover,” he lists. “And keep the wood dry. And the branches. And hope the wind doesn’t put it out.” Miller releases a long string of expletives in reply. 

Bellamy pushes his sleeping bag off his legs and zips it up in a haste, holding it up for them to see as he rises to his height. “We have more than enough of those. Carrying damn wood to the beach is the least of our worries,” he reasons. The mood flips like a switch, the five of them scrambling to their feet to mimic his actions. 

“Let’s wake the older ones.” 

And that they do. They move and they bolt back and forth, disassembling, gathering, planning. Eleven of them form a ring to hold out a large piece of fabric, most likely cut out from the dropship parachute, and the rest stand against the direction of the wind so Collins can unbury whatever minute detail he’s memorized from “Earth Skills” and maintain a steady spark increase after the initial ignition, in spite of the unfavorable circumstances. Monroe drops down next to him, listening until they execute the task in sync. 

The spark turns into a flame that licks at the wood, hesitantly at first, ruthlessly later. The tarp melts and burns beneath their feet, too, giving off a strong, unpleasant odour that makes them cough and anyone standing in close proximity retreat. 

They make it. They tremble, drenched from the rain, chests heaving, but they make it. Green light comes in bursts to signal their temporary victory and, if all goes well, to signal whatever else it’s supposed to; their unwavering need for help.

After, they dry up in their tents, huddled together, digging through their last change of clothes. They laugh for the first time in days, vibrating with tension and energy and a great deal of burden is elevated from Bellamy’s shoulders. 

The wait lasts two full hours, till the rain is replaced by a light drizzle and then ceases completely. Some stay in the forest and Bellamy takes the hunting group to the beach with him.

Help comes in the form of surprise, as does everything else on the ground.

A dozen _divers_ in black suits, as Monroe names them in awe, come out of the water with steely bows and arrows and before Bellamy has the chance to process what is going on, he's pinned to the wet sand alongside another ten of his people carrying guns, his own gun swept and kicked away. 

The divers speak in Trigedasleng, apparently in a tone that suggests no one is out of the woods yet. Bellamy grunts at the restraint of the hold on him, but he struggles to remember Lincoln's words to him, almost praying to any higher power he's never believed in before to be merciful and spare their lives. 

"Ai laik Belomi," he croaks with effort. One of the men in black raises his hand so quietness ensues and his cover comes off to reveal a bald head with tattoos and dark brown eyes. 

Bellamy is set free to rise from the ground and tries again. "Ai laik Belomi kom Skaikru en ai gaf gouthru klir.”

"Sky people," he spits out, like it sours his mouth. "Why should we give you safe passage, Bellamy of the Sky People? All you've achieved so far is start a war that you can't end."

"Lincoln sent us," Bellamy simply replies, noticing the surprised recognition in the man's eyes.

There's yelling from the very end of the forest, indicating there's more of his people coming into sight very soon and Bellamy cusses his luck out. He was never wary of their numbers, not until the edge of an arrow was pinching his spine, probably even coated in poison.

It's a while before he can appease the majority of them and persuade the Grounders no one is going to shoot them in the head. What _Skaikru_ needs right now is to convince them it’s only peace that they’re after, even if it’s not the entire truth for all of them. If they manage to inspire even an ounce of trust in the foreigners, perhaps they’ll believe it themselves, too. Maybe this is how they get to salvation. 

“War is not what we want,” Collins interjects, stretching out his arms to pacify the angry crowd before he drops them back to his sides and shifts his attention to the Grounders. “It’s why we ran from it. All we’re asking for is a second chance. Please.”

There is nod they could have easily missed and none of them is certain what it refers to. “How many of you are there?”

“Fifty-eight,” says Bellamy, something hollow in his chest, hurting to remind him that it’s there, carved out by each one of the fallen that took a piece of him with them, to the grave.

The man fishes for something in his belongings, strapped around his middle. He asks for the leader of the Sky People and, as soon as he gets his answer, pushes five vials of turbid greenish liquid sealed with cork Bellamy’s way.

“Safe passage should only be given to five of you. You have three minutes to make a choice.”

Bellamy wonders for a spare second how many more crossroads and dilemmas they will have to move past before they get to the alleged Promise Land. (Or before everything goes to hell.)

::

::

::

The second time Bellamy wakes and sheer terror grips at his throat at the unfamiliarity of his surroundings, there is a shrill ringing in his head. The back of his palm presses against his temple as he sits up ready to count heads. There should be four of them, unharmed.

“Took you long enough.”

Miller perks up from his sitting position against a tall metal wall. The smell of rust and salt, more powerful than ever, reaches Bellamy’s nostrils. 

It is then that he realizes there’s a stranger with them in the spacious metal box, a young woman right about Octavia’s age, with blonde hair falling in waves against the side of her face, clad in tattered Grounder clothes. She’s examining Raven’s leg from various angles, fingers prodding at the dirty bandages with an evidently displeased frown.

“ _Hey_ ,” Bellamy protests, ready to pick a fight if he needs to, instantly realizing their weapons have been taken. Monty’s eyes widen in alarm from the other side of the box and Jasper, who was pacing up and down just a minute ago, stills. Miller bangs his head against the wall and the loud thump makes the girl’s eyes snap to them swiftly, her fair brows furrowing right as her lips press together into a thin line. 

Her eyes are blue like the ocean, cool and unrelenting. 

Miller sighs. “It’s useless. She doesn’t speak English.” The girl gets up as if in answer and heads towards the door, holding out a warning finger for them to stay in place whilst she bangs her fist on it and it opens from the outside. Light filters in the box from the crack of the door, prompting them to blink a couple of times.

The minutes they wait for Raven to stir back into consciousness feel like an eternity, but when it happens they barely have some seconds to check up on one another. The door opens again and another woman comes in, taller and with a more tan complexion than the last, with a serious case of dark red bedhead. Her eyes are a darker shade of brown, but warmer at first look and that encourages Bellamy to speak up when she asks for him. 

“Lincoln said you would help us.” 

“So why do you think that I could?” she asks, doubtful. 

“We wouldn’t know where else to head to,” he tells her honestly. “Grounders have hurt and murdered our people more times than I can count, since the moment we landed.”

“You’ve done your fair share of hurting, I’m sure,” Luna comments. “You landed in Trikru territory. _Jus drein jus daun_. That is their way.”

“What does this mean?” Jasper questions.

“Blood must have blood,” she translates and the hair on Bellamy’s arms stands on end.

“But that is not your way,” Raven points out from where she stands, leaning with her one side on the cold, discolored wall, putting emphasis on the “ _your_ ”. 

“No, it’s not,” Luna concurs. “Which is why I’ve been hesitant to let you in in the first place. You have a target on your back and people from any clan are willing to go to great lengths to follow that target.”

There is a lot Bellamy can’t yet comprehend about what she just uttered. His stomach churns. He has a bad feeling about this and an even more terrible one for the rest of them waiting back across the sea, unprotected. 

“What if there were no Trikru soldiers to follow the target anymore?” Miller asks, his inquiry far from hypothetical. He shares a look with Bellamy and images of the outcome of the ring of fire fleetingly come to mind. 

Luna makes her biggest pause yet, examining them one by one, probably assessing the risk she is willing to take for the likes of thieves and rebels and sinners - delinquents of their kind. 

“That would be wishful thinking. I do not respect the things I grew up to believe any more than you do, but I can see you are clueless about how things work on the ground. There is an unbreakable alliance among all twelve clans. The fact that you encountered and wiped out only two or three hundred of one clan doesn’t mean the other eleven won’t be ordered to seek and exterminate whatever is left of you.” 

They all remain silent in answer, processing the information given.

“Besides,” Luna adds. “We cannot take in fifty-eight people who are filled with rage and only care about themselves, no matter how many resources there could be.”

Her supposedly promising words intrigue Bellamy. “Would there be any resources available?” 

Luna levels him with a stare that could cut through steel if it meant to, wordlessly giving him a clue about how wrong that must have rung in her ears. Bellamy can now suspect with more confidence why only the five of them made it in the metal box.

“We have much to consider,” she finally decides. “Both your people and mine. You’ll be offered a place to rest for two days at most. Choose your terms wisely and we’ll discuss them over dinner this evening.”

"I was wondering if before then someone could take care of our friend. She's been hurt and our healer has had minimal training to treat her properly." 

Luna voices her affirmative, tells them "Clarke" sent someone to carry Raven in medical.

The doors are pushed open widely and sunlight inundates the place. Luna gestures for two men to hold out the stretcher for Raven and for the rest to keep up with her quick gait, but once they're some feet out of the box, their mouths fall open.

They're standing on some kind of enormous platform in the middle of the ocean, one Bellamy never happened to meet in pictures of school books or encyclopedias. They seem to be surrounded by blue and the ambient atmosphere makes it hard to tell if there's land to be seen somewhere in the distance. 

Bellamy can't decide whether he feels trapped or free, stranded here in the middle of nowhere.

They move to the edge of the platform after Luna's permissive bob of the head and Monty gasps audibly in pleasant surprise from next to him.

"It's an oil rig," he claims. "Used for drilling oil from the bottom of the sea. Not what I expected," he mutters to himself.

Not what any of them expected, frankly.

They are offered a brief tour of the rig with everyone's curious stares directed at them and a strange feeling of warmth and _what could be_ flooding them from the bottom to the top.

They are led to their sleeping quarters by a girl named Shay, a single room for all of them to share for one night if all goes well at dinner, before they ask her to show them the way to medical.

Raven is lying alone on a cot with a blanket half draped over her, the corners of her lips rising up in a weak smile the moment she catches sight of them.

Jasper grins back at her, squeezing her shoulder. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm a little drowsy," she admits and her eyelids flutter, as if on cue. "I got scolded at for almost letting the wound get infected. But I'll live."

Bellamy updates her about the invitation to dinner, promising they'll finally get to try their hand at real diplomacy with mirth in his voice. He takes note of movement out of the corner of his eye and, soon enough, the blonde girl from before pushes aside a reed curtain and stops in her tracks for a split second, but then decides to scurry over to them with a purposeful glint in her eye. The sound makes the rest of the group aware of her arrival, so they all straighten up. 

“There’s no need for all of you to stay,” she says offhandedly. “Raven needs her rest, after all.”

“Oh, so she does speak,” snaps Miller. Something changes in her posture and her face as well, wrinkles materializing at the corners of her eyes, like she’s making an effort not to smile.

She ignores Miller’s comment and introduces herself as Clarke, nodding her head four times as they take turns sharing their names. 

“As I said, I only need to speak to one of you for a minute. I’ll go fetch some water and I’ll be back for the rest,” she announces and makes a beeline for the curtain.

“Was that a hint?” Jasper wonders out loud, ducking his face so as to prevent from snickering. “That was a hint.” 

They exit quietly, vowing they’ll roam around just as discreetly. It is only then that Bellamy notices Raven’s agitation, an anxious spark in her look that wasn’t present just some minutes ago. She’s still slow in her movements, eyes still drooping a bit, but she opens and closes her mouth indecisively, clearly in need of articulating her thoughts.

“I never told her my name,” she settles for in the end. “Did you?” Bellamy shakes his head, unknowingly urging her to look around uselessly, searching for something buried in a corner of her mind. “I’ve seen that birthmark before.”

“What birthmark?” Bellamy asks.

“The one above her upper lip,” she explains, breathing out, seemingly exasperated at herself. “I should have realized sooner. I remember thinking it was an unusual spot to -”

“Raven, you’re not making much sense,” he interrupts suddenly, tone bordening on impatient. 

"It's the Griffin girl," she whispers, a mix of urgency and astonishment accompanying her shift in demeanor.

"As in, the daughter of Councilwoman Griffin?" Bellamy asks, equally surprised.

Raven nods."She was in the pod that came down first. Part of the deal I made with Abby."

“You never told me that,” Bellamy accuses. “You can’t keep things like that from me right now, Raven. We have to know what we’re getting ourselves into.”

She rolls her eyes, lowering the tone of her voice nevertheless. “Yeah, well. She came down with Jake Griffin when he found a glitch in the oxygen supply system. I fixed the pod which apparently got them here and, in exchange, Abby kept me posted about Finn. When it was announced the Hundred would be sent to the ground, I wore her bracelet and my vitals were projected on a screen next to her face. No Raven Reyes registered among the prisoners.”

“So that was...what, a choice?”

Bellamy wonders if regret ever escorted said choice, if she only ever understood parts of him because they were in the dropship for the exact same reason.

Clarke Griffin chooses that moment to walk back in the room with a jug of water and an item resembling a tin can. She sets them at the short table next to Raven’s cot and turns to Bellamy with instructions, so he makes up his mind about biting his tongue and makes a mental note to himself to weigh his options later, when he’s much less unprepared. 

“Raven’s lucky the bullet didn’t stay in,” Clarke starts. “With the lack of proper disinfection and the shortage of clean bandages and stitches, the situation could have been much worse for her.”

“With all due respect, we were in the middle of a war.” _Still are, unless your people take us in_ , he continues in his head, but he doesn’t dare say it out loud. 

“I understand.” Although Clarke looks like she has a great deal to add to that, which admittedly irks him, she goes on, bringing the subject back to Raven. “The bleeding was not too heavy and she can move her leg just fine, so I’m guessing there was no damage to any vessels. I cleaned the wound, stitched it and showed her how to treat it during the day. I also gave her something for the pain and the fever so it’s probably best she stay asleep for the next couple of hours.”

“So what can we do to help?” he asks, ignoring Raven’s loud huff.

“Mainly take care that she’s not putting much weight on that foot for some days and help her with the bandages in case there’s something she can’t do on her own. I’ll bring her a crutch as soon as I find one.”

“Thanks, doc,” Raven interferes. Knowing her, it’s their dismissal. 

Bellamy and Clarke part ways right after she points to him the direction he supposes Miller, Monty and Jasper went in. He locates them in what looks like a main hall, definitely the largest room he’s come across thus far. He takes a minute to appreciate the peculiar decoration all around - fishing nets, hooks, sea shells and metal debris giving shape to intriguing patterns - until Miller strolls up to him.

“We just met Jake fucking Griffin,” he whispers through gritted teeth. 

“I gathered,” Bellamy mutters, scanning the place for the man. He’s sitting down, but he looks taller than any of the delinquents, nearly as sturdy as Lincoln. Bellamy’s first thought upon seizing him up is that they could have used someone like him on the ground. In fact, they could have used anyone other than a group of untrained, frightened minors and a self-proclaimed leader who has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. 

“Apparently, Monty’s a big fan. Jake used to work with Sinclair, who recruited him into engineering. They’re getting along. We might have just gotten ourselves an advantage,” Miller says, but it doesn’t sound like he completely believes his own words, either. After all, luck hasn’t been on their side as of lately and Monty gets along with everyone. 

Dinner comes before they realize it, having lost track of time, and it’s more like a gathering and a celebration than actual dinner. A fire is lit in the middle of the room and Luna’s people gather around it, about twenty of them if Bellamy estimated correctly. Food is served; soup, fried vegetables and fish, making their stomachs growl and flutter in anticipation. Music comes from instruments none of them have seen before and they stare unabashedly, entranced, because all they’ve been used to for the past few weeks is war drums. 

The Grounders are dressed differently than before, Bellamy first notices as Clarke passes in front of them. The women are wearing dresses to the knees and the men cloaks adorned with sea jewellery, all of their faces painted lightly in intricate designs the color of the water.

Clarke acknowledges them with a kind, somewhat aloof greeting, so Bellamy decides right then and there what it is about her that rubs him the wrong way. She’s privileged to the bone, always has been and always will be. Even in her misfortune, she landed in the most fortunate place there could be. 

Bellamy grips his cup hard, trying again to make sense of the conversation he spaced out of, for his own sake. Maintaining his composure and a good mentality is what will make the difference between the survival and the end of his people - that’s already enough pressure for tonight.

Jasper has quite obviously taken a liking to Shay, the girl that showed them to their room earlier. She’s in the middle of a dramatic narration about being chased by a shark, making pauses at the right parts of her story, enjoying how everyone leans in her direction in order not to miss a single word. Her fingers fumble with the necklace of a shark tooth for show, but Bellamy can’t help letting out a short laugh when Monty jumps from his seat. 

Bellamy stands to help himself with some soup and quietly contemplate his future discussion with Luna, though, his mind drifts elsewhere. To the forest, where his injured sister fled with Lincoln to find the very place Bellamy is relishing the festivities in, but somehow still hasn’t made it. To the shore, where fifty-three of them are now eating their last rations while Bellamy is stuffing himself with food, in hopes of getting all the energy he can get. By reminding himself exactly what his purpose here is, he finally manages to expel the guilt from inside him. He spots Luna in a quiet corner across the room, drinking from her cup, laughing, but she’s with a man so he supposes now is probably not a very good time for Bellamy to cut in.

“Having fun yet?”

He didn’t really hear when, but at some point during his unfinished train of thought Clarke padded quietly behind him. Bellamy sets his jaw now, a bad habit that arose whenever he would interact with people like her and that he never truly broke.

“Does it look like it?” he scoffs.

Instead of dignifying that with an answer, she narrows her eyes at him. He sets his bowl down and turns to face her fully. “We’ve been fighting to defend our home from Grounders ever since we stepped foot on the ground, a home that we had to abandon because we were still in the lion’s den. We’ve been travelling on foot for days, always afraid we could be murdered in our sleep. Finally, we come all the way here only to receive negativity and distrust from your leader.”

He can distinguish a startling softness and something akin to empathy in the gentle blue of her eyes, though all it does is make his blood boil harder. 

“All I’m trying to do is help, not judge you.”

Bellamy makes a vague gesture with his right hand, expectant. _So help_. 

She crosses her arms to her chest and raises a fair eyebrow. “Well, first of all, drop that attitude. You might be stressed, but when you’re with Luna, it won’t work in your favor. What she wants to see is someone she can indeed trust and communicate with, someone who can keep the peace and offer more to a bigger community instead of being selfish. To survive, you need to prove you can use your head.”

Just like that, Bellamy’s seething again. He feels like he’s sneering at himself, letting her have such an effect on him. 

“What would you know about surviving, Princess? Wild guess, you’ve never had to lift a finger in your life.”

“Clearly, you’re judging _me_.” She scowls. “Where is this even coming from? Did I do something to offend you?” she demands. 

Bellamy sighs, having regretted his big mouth and his bad temper already. It’s always worse when he’s holding the strings of the fate of so many people alone, always worse when Octavia is slipping like dust from his fists. 

“Not really,” he reluctantly admits. “Let’s just leave it at that.”

“I think that’s for the best, yes,” she agrees. Bellamy’s gaze follows her movements as she quickly fills her plate with food and storms off to the opposite side of the main hall, where her friends are already deep into conversation.

So much for having an ace up his sleeve. A sour feeling rises in him once it dawns on him Collins would have been better at this whole diplomacy thing.

He returns to the group with a grimace he can feel pulling at his mouth, only for it to grow bigger when he tunes in to the ridiculous horror stories Miller’s cooked up in his absence. 

Raven joins them just as Miller has traded his real voice for a ridiculous one, and her crutches conveniently screech against the floor.

“Sounds like I almost missed the party,” she remarks, nudging Bellamy’s side.

It’s going to be a long evening and an even longer night.

::

::

::

“Did she change her mind yet?” Jasper queries the second Bellamy comes into the room, fidgeting. Their talk with Luna killed the mood for all of them and tightened the noose around Bellamy’s throat, making his breathing heavy and ragged and his forehead drip with cold sweat. He doubts he’ll be able to sleep here yet, doubts he’ll be able to handle handing out answers to their very solemn questions, answers he hasn’t had the chance to consider.

Luna denied to let them stay a second longer than promised, denied to send warriors to the other side so the Sky People will be under their protection. Luna thinks the merging of their people will bring unrest and compromise their peace, if the Sky People shoot their own and can burn down an entire army to save their own skin in the blink of an eye. She believes that they want to be better and fit in, that they have enough working hands to make this place better, too, but she still doesn’t trust that being outnumbered is the wisest option for her people. Bellamy wanted to say that their murderers are gone, heart pierced by Trikru spears or flesh melted in the ring of fire, but all of them are murderers now. All he could do was accept the best she had to offer, some more hours until the next boat arrived to take them to the shore.

Bellamy bends on the floor to retrieve his jacket from the furs he’s supposed to sleep in tonight. He needs more time. 

“Bellamy,” Raven calls and he turns to give her a look, tell her he needs to be alone right now. She beats him to speaking. “We’ll try to think of something else, too.”

He nods, cracking an appreciative almost-smile and off he goes.

There is no soul on the deck when he arrives. He stomps his boots a little louder, temporarily revelling in the vibrations travelling up his calves, because he can handle neither the vastness of the ocean nor the loud, terrifying thoughts filling his head with persistent pain. He walks over to the edge of the deck, plopping down, leaning against a part of a metal drilling module - or whatever that might be. 

It is then that he feels the vibrations against the side of his face and up his spine again, even though he remains motionless. He can make out a shape descending some kind of ladder, squints his eyes so he can make an estimate from the long hair and the height. In a full moon, he would have probably recognized the figure from the beginning.

“Can’t sleep?” Bellamy hears, at last making out the hair turned golden in the moonlight, the shape of her face, the distinctive rasp of her voice. 

Clarke’s proximity to Luna during dinner registers with him then, prompting him to quickly ponder his approach. 

“Negative,” he says in the most neutral tone he can master. “This could be our last day here. I might as well enjoy it while it lasts.”

Clarke sighs. “I wish Luna did change her mind,” she confesses with what sounds like honesty. “And if not, I wish you the best of luck. She’ll give you more information about where it’s safest to head to.”

“I hope we don’t need it,” he says, a chill crawling up the nape of his neck, nearly overwhelming him. He puts on his jacket, mentally preparing the order of the things he means to ask her.

“Look, Clarke,” he starts and she stares at him with round eyes, parted lips, taken aback. “I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot.”

“Might have?” she reiterates in disbelief.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way that I did. Your name was mentioned and I - all I saw was a young girl who never had to get the short end of the stick. Never had to fight for the things so many others died for.”

“Isn’t this a bit presumptuous of you?” Clarke hisses.

“Maybe it is,” he agrees. “But in the world I was raised in, taking extra rations, stealing medicine for the sick, having a second child gets you floated. You don’t get to have a second chance.”

Despite it all, Clarke snorts, shaking her head at him. Bellamy’s too exhausted to feel the fury build up in him.

“Your apologizing skills suck,” she states. It sounds so much like something one of the teenagers at the dropship could have said that it takes him by surprise. From where he’s standing, she doesn’t look or sound eighteen.

“Unless this will make you feel better, I suggest you save your energy for things that really matter to you. Because you don’t mean a word that you just said.”

 _Too smart for your own good_ , he means to say, but refrains from talking. He’s spent enough time with girls like her - bright eyes, full lips and mind sharp like a razor - to already know that they hate hearing it. They hate feeling being preyed upon.

Bellamy chuckles. “What gave it away?”

She points the space between them, shakes her finger back and forth. “What you’re doing here, it won’t help your chances with Luna. She made it clear it’s a matter she won’t take my advice on. Neither my Dad’s,” she adds at the end, but Bellamy catalogued everyone’s whereabouts during the night, whether he initially meant to or not, and he has a feeling Clarke Griffin has a burden on her shoulders that Jake doesn’t where decision-making is concerned. 

“I’m turning in for the night,” Clarke tells him, rubbing her hands up her arms as the cool breeze makes goosebumps rise on her skin. 

“Good night, I suppose.” 

“Get some rest,” she encourages. As if he could. 

::

::

::

A sharp hammering shakes their door the following morning, causing their hearts to fly up their throats. They had woken at least an hour and a half ago, but couldn’t find it in them to eat their offered breakfast or face anyone without a rough outline of a plan. A plan that would still be useless without Luna’s consent, of course. 

_Whatever the hell we want_ is a lie, always has been. 

“Luna has asked for you in the dining hall,” a man shouts from outside. 

They leap from their seats on the floor, aid Raven get a hang of her crutches after having put them aside for the previous night, and they hurry to where they’ve been asked to go.

Bellamy counts heads, his unbreakable habit, but for a different reason this time. It’s not just them that Luna has called - Luna who’s standing in the middle of the room with her hands clasped together and her mouth ready to utter the words that will define their luck and their fate, their _everything_. It’s her people that Luna has called as well, a mix of orphans and clan members that were too sick of the brewing conflicts.

Luna’s voice booms across the hall.

“I’ve gathered you here today so we can all decide what’s best for ourselves and our own, together. The Sky People have asked for an alliance. They have asked for safe passage and for shelter. They, in return, offer protection, innovation and a life of kindness and peace. There is safety in numbers and we cannot stay here until the end of our days, you are well aware.” Her eyes scan the crowd and find Bellamy’s amongst the rest. “All those against inviting fifty-three Skaikru members for a trial period of ten days, please come forward.” 

Whispers arise at Luna's pause. Bellamy feels many pairs of eyes that weren't directed at him in such a way before. A man comes forward and Luna addresses him.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Diogo?" 

“There is no space for all of us. Not enough food.” The whispers turn into low murmurs. 

“Which is why it has been decided that should they come here, there will be a trial period. Skaikru will share the remaining chambers and duties have already been assigned. If, after that, at least one of you objects to the Skaikru staying with good reason, they will be sent away to meet a different fate.” 

Luna wait for his condescension, but all she is met with is silence. “Anyone else?” she challenges. No one breaks the quiet and it spreads over the dining hall like a big, confining veil. 

“Very well, then. Let us all give them a warm welcome with tomorrow’s festivities. Tonight, we rest.” 

Bellamy remains still even when people move about to continue with the day’s activities, too dumbfounded to express his gratitude properly. Sure, keeping all of them in line will be a pain in the ass no doubt, but this is more than he could have asked for, more than he expected since yesterday’s events.

He sees Jasper and Monty perform their weird, usual handshake ritual out of the corner of his eye, sees Miller envelop Raven with a grin so big Bellamy’s almost afraid his face will split in two. He sends Miller, Jasper and Monty off to fetch their friends from the other side of the sea and stays behind with Raven to take care of the preparations and keep track of the prerequisites and the rules for a troubleless stay. 

(Who would have thought Bellamy Blake would draw relief from following rules again?)

Clarke gives them a list to write down on and complete a little after lunch and he sits side by side with Raven, figuring out who would be suitable for what. _Cleaning staff_ , _kitchen staff_ , _boat maintenance_ , _sailing training_ , _scientific personnel_ and it goes on and on. It feels a tad bit formal, would have been too much under different circumstances, but Bellamy welcomes the Griffins’ meticulousness and predictability nonetheless. 

Just like that, his chest feels lighter, lungs fuller. He can close his eyes, listen to the sound of the waves crashing beneath their feet and let the rhythm of the ocean empty his head slowly, completely. 

For now, that’s all there is. 

::

::

::

The welcome festivities are warm, alright. 

Luna’s people are showered with attention and curiosity, maybe even overwhelmed by the tactlessness at certain points of the evening, yet things are going relatively well for everyone. 

Jasper’s last round of moonshine runs out in the first hour. There is an abundance of wine, heavenly dishes of seafood no one would be capable of dreaming of, small gifts for them to hang around their necks and wrap around their wrists. When the children go to sleep, they drink and they curse like sailors, dance in near frenzy around the fire. Some of them puke from eating too much food their bellies have not yet gotten accustomed to, but they manage to work as a group even in their silly drunkenness, keeping the order before they get carried away on their second evening. 

Bellamy meets Jake Griffin for the first time that night. He has his daughter’s eyes with kind wrinkles around the edges and a voice that soothes and keeps you centered, makes you believe shooting for the sky might not be so farfetched, after all. 

"They are just kids," Jake muses, hands clasped behind his back. "They must have been in desperate need of oxygen to send kids to the ground.” His sarcasm partly surprises Bellamy. Then he remembers the man was sentenced to doom, alongside his own daughter, since the root of the problem was uncovered, so at least some amount of bitterness would of course be due. 

“They were lucky to have you.” Bellamy opens his mouth to protest. He’s interrupted. “You did good.”

He wonders, for a brief moment, whether Jake would be saying the same things when he heard about whose blood Bellamy’s hands were stained with to get here. 

“It’s teamwork, sir,” Bellamy says, the only honest answer coming to mind, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

When it’s time for everyone to retreat in their quarters for the night, according to the arrangements Harper made, Bellamy stays behind and takes charge of cleaning duty. More people soon join, swaying their hips to Sterling’s out-of-tune singing. 

“Showing exemplary behavior, I see,” Jasper mock-praises, hiccuping a little. The entire situation is a joke, but it beats living every day hunted by vengeful Grounders and haunted by ghosts.

“Get your own broom and get your ass here!” Collins exclaims, triggering a fit of laughter that might have been a little less exaggerated, had everyone stayed sober, or a little less noticeable, had Bellamy decided not to. 

They soon call it a night. Bellamy’s skin still hums with energy he can’t downplay, so he resumes his spot on the deck from two nights ago, head touching the floor, facing the illuminated sky. It reminds him of the glittering pins he stuck above his mother’s bed so he would tell Octavia tales about the stars and the suns of the universe, about Atlas who carried the whole world on his back, and she could paint them in her head, float and fly away from her spot under the floor.

Clarke’s voice comes from somewhere to his right. “You’re a nightbird.”

“You meant to say night owl,” he corrects. 

“ _Natsora_ ,” Clarke insists. “That’s what they call it here. It literally translates to nightbird.” She has a cheeky smile on, eyes gleaming. “Also, I thought you’d appreciate being someplace where no one would be privy to your thoughts.”

“You can’t hear my thoughts,” jokes Bellamy. 

“I might,” she says, cheek dimpling a little. "Come on."

She guides him to the ladder he saw her slide down from the night before yesterday and bangs at the metal with her knuckles. Bellamy looks up.

"That's a little high, isn't it? Is that a trap or what?"

"If it was a trap, I would have used it before the others crossed the sea." The metal makes a sound at her impatient touch again so he hoists himself up and beggins climbing, slowly at first, a little more rapidly as he gets to the top. Darkness surrounds them and he can’t see much, but the tranquility and the enormity of the ocean astounds him. He wonders what floating in the sea would feel like, what sounds he would hear underwater, what and where his fingers could reach. 

The ladder shakes again, indicating Clarke’s ascent and he moves towards the edge of the observatory, creating space. 

“It’s better when the sun is setting,” she explains. “I had to come up here many times to get used to it. I’m usually the first to see the green fire from the beach.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Bellamy asks, curious. He’s aware it must have sounded somewhat rude, but Clarke still doesn’t seem to mind.

“Some days, being around people you don’t like is better,” she offers, coaxing an unintentional smile out of him. It pulls at his lips and at his cheeks and trying to conceal it would probably be useless at this point. “Easier,” Clarke adds, holding his gaze for a moment longer. 

Bellamy’s eyes flutter shut as the sea roars and his soul thrums for more. When he he opens them again, Clarke is looking ahead, lost in her own thoughts. 

He doesn’t get it, doesn’t get her. This is most likely the reason why being in her presence seems so appealing, tantalizing even, Bellamy speculates. Little does he know, he has never been more wrong. 

::

::

::

A week passes and the relief doubles as they near the end of their trial period. No Sky Person travels across the sea for supplies, but they are trusted with a lot more than they could have fathomed. They stick to the list and they stick to the rules and they give life to every little thing they touch. They even form their own routine for the day: Bellamy and Miller mainly remain busy with manual work, Jasper tries his hand at experimental cooking, Harper organizes activities and games for the children, while Raven and Monty are taken under the wing of Jake Griffin. They all learn to tie knots and learn what types of fish are poisonous and what kinds of creatures could cut your arms off in the great depths. 

When the sun sets, they have time to contemplate, to plan and to love. Time on earth is accelerated, clouds moving with the speed of horses, kids blooming like flowers from one day to the next and they choose to live every day like it’s their last. 

Jasper holds Shay’s hand before dinner, fingers brushing only when he thinks nobody sees, and Harper kisses Monty on a dare, after she’s had a cup of wine more than usual. Collins steps up his game, coming up with new ways to impress, even shamelessly flirting with Clarke when Raven is not too close, but none of them really talk about it. 

Bellamy's been familiar with more than Raven’s opinion since her boyfriend went missing for too long and she entered his tent, told him she’d been better off without Collins for a long time. 

And Clarke, well - they still meet at the observatory in silence, breathing in sync with the sounds all around, listening. One day, he climbs up when the wind has abated and the sun still hasn't vanished from the horizon and finds her curled up with charcoal on the pads of her fingers, her chin and her nose, and a notebook full of drawings. She explains to him how her drawings changed when she caught sight of the sea, how seagulls took the place of eagles while water took the place of grass and trees.

“When I saw the land, glowing flowers and butterflies - it exceeded any expectation I had on the Ark. But soon I knew nature was a living trap, eating you up to spit you out defenseless or dead. Nothing like the shelter granted by the ocean. Or the part of the ocean that I’ve met.”

On the ninth day of their stay, Clarke sates his itch to pry.

“We landed in Trikru territory, like you did. Grounders found us, imprisoned us and tortured us for information, told us there was another ship that came down years before our own, a small one. There was no way to contact the Ark after they tore our radio apart.” She makes a pause to fiddle with an untied shoelace. “Dad noticed there was a gas leak in the room we were locked in. We managed to use a lighter I still had in my pocket, but not before Lincoln found us and told us how to run. We lit the place on fire.”

Guilt gnaws at Bellamy and he feels like apologizing again, but he supposes it’s no use now. He would be doing it for all the wrong reasons anyway.

“I don’t know what happened to the village,” Clarke murmurs. “We saw the smoke from afar.”

“I’m sure they put it out. Otherwise they would have murdered us on the spot,” he presumes. “Lucky us,” he says lightly, skin flushing at her smile.

It’s not long before Bellamy hears about Luna and why she’s been staying in the hide, either. Grounder culture is still baffling to him, but he can at least grasp the gist of it. Although Bellamy’s never seen Luna bleed, her wounds are supposed to glisten with coal black instead of scarlet red. _Natblida_ , they called her before she run. 

On the eleventh day of their time on the rig, Bellamy realizes they are truly here to stay through a mouthful of cabbage and Monty’s content blabbering about Jake’s encouragement for his new project.

“I’ve been thinking, since making energy from plants could be a thing then why not just make energy from _algae_? Here, they are easier to find, easier to cultivate and so much more interesting to work with.”

Bellamy chokes until Collins and Harper slap his back and a little girl named Adria rushes over to him with a glass of water.

Not much changes compared to past days and Bellamy’s happy to keep it that way. That is until Clarke jumps out of the shadows one evening when the girls sharing her room have gone to dinner and tugs at his sleeve in a featherly pull. 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” she whispers, urgent, and guides him to her sleeping quarters where Jake is waiting as well, compelling the hammering in Bellamy's chest to travel up his ears and make them hot at the tips.

Apparently, two informants who had been gone trading for supplies for a couple of days returned on the day before the rest of Skaikru were permitted safe passage. Which is why they were permitted passage in the first place. From the context, Jake inferred parts of the Ark could have separated to land as a last resort, what with the oxygen levels being critical and unsustainable.

Shock shakes Bellamy to the core, rousing the tingling of his limbs so he requires a moment to sit down on the second of the only two cots in the room he knows the girls take turns sleeping in.

"How - how could nobody see the Ark come down?" he stutters, blurts out _the Ark_ like it's a word he hasn't made the acquaintance of.

"It must have happened after half past two in the morning," says Jake. "I don't believe the rest of the kids didn't see or hear anything while they were on the shore, however."

Bellamy doesn't believe so, either. It troubles him that none of them ever considered mentioning anything at all to him. It reminds him of something similar Raven must have told him days ago; delving headfirst into work while, at the same time, embracing the serenity and the safety of the refuge was more than adequate for the ill feelings to subside and the hurt to stay buried where the light of the sun didn't touch. They must have chosen this in good conscience - having hope for something real rather than something that could be. 

Beads of perspiration gather under Bellamy's shirt, in his closed fists, under the hair in his scalp, because he's run away, too, but he's the only one who ever really needed to run from all he's done. Whether Chancellor Jaha is alive or not, they all heard Bellamy was the one to shoot him by now, both people on the Ark and the expendable delinquents. It's what made the majority of them fear him on the ground at the very start, but certainly not what made them respect him.

"Do we know which Stations landed?" he asks the Griffins.

Clarke shakes her head. "We don't know anything so far," Jake agrees. "And we might never find out. But in case we do, one day, we thought it's best for you to be prepared."

"Thank you," Bellamy croaks, still at a loss.

Jake ushers them outside for dinner and the subject changes as quickly as thunder strikes on a rainy day. They sit down at a table in the dining hall, talk about the winter and the essential supplies they currently don't have to keep all of them warm. 

Bellamy chews in silence for the entirely or the meal, exchanging few words with Miller. Later, he finds comfort in the softness of his furs spread on floor, staring at the ceiling instead of a sky full of stars, forcing himself to be lulled into a false sense of security by the snoring instead of the waves.

He dreams of Thelonious Jaha for the first time in weeks, dreams of the dead that they never had the time to bury. They scream at him like they always do, tearing at his hair and clothes. He always wakes up, always double checks everything is in place.

It's only the tear in his heart that he can't mend.

::

::

::

On day twenty-three, they have a funeral.

It's a quiet affair, something they were all in need of seeing through, to stop tossing from nightmares and to live every single one of their upcoming days to the fullest.

On the ground, they would have woven flowers into crowns and chanted the traveller's blessing together. Here, they make a raft out of ropes and seashells, big and small and they throw it into the water.

Some descend to the cement the boat is tied to from the ladder and some from the hand-moved elevator Jake finished the construction of only recently.

"Kom woda ‘so gyon op, gon woda ‘so kom daun," Luna recites and the children sing.

_From water we are born, to water we return._

"May we meet again."

Bellamy gives a gentle push to the raft and they watch it sail away. He prefers to believe their souls are sailing away as well, soaring and floating overseas, to the great unknown.

When they get back on the deck to clean up and collect whatever is left, Clarke sits down next to him with a big white shell in her hands and makes him press it to his ear.

"What am I supposed to do with it?"

She offers an impressive eye-roll. "Close your eyes and breathe. Listen carefully and you'll hear the waves," she promises. True to her word, all it takes is two inhales and one exhale and something unearthly and deep rumbles in his ear, makes electricity buzz under his flesh.

Raven snorts from behind them and Clarke simpers in return. “What a load of crap,” Raven grumbles fondly. “Spiral shells are like resonating chambers. That’s air you’re listening to.” 

“See, that’s why you never say stuff like that in front of Raven,” Jasper says. “She doesn’t have a romantic bone in her body.”

“I wasn’t being romantic,” Clarke deflects.

“That was kind of romantic, Princess.” She groans, swats at Bellamy’s arm. Tells him to meet her after dinner. 

They wait on top of the observatory, for the crowd to thin out and sleep to take over before she takes him to a dark room he hasn’t stepped foot on before, biting her bottom lip in eagerness, inviting. There’s a boat, much smaller than the one that brought them here. Bellamy imagines it could fit four people at most. 

The floor is a moving one, Clarke explains as she shows him the levers and the ropes they have to pull to lower themselves to the sea level, much like in the elevator they used in the morning. The boat is shoved into the water with a loud splash and Clarke jumps in with a small yelp. Bellamy looks up instinctively, finally choosing to put his trust in her and follow suit. 

They paddle instead of using the engine, yet he doubts all the noise went unnoticed - a problem for another day. They softly glide across the water, moving at a speed that sparks elation in him and makes Clarke light up in curiosity that he has a strong feeling was provoked by him. They stop moving at her instructions, pulling out and throwing a small anchor into the sea.

“Any other tricks up your sleeve I should know about?” he says facetiously.

“Sure.” Her expression shifts in way that Bellamy’s never seen before, making something stir inside his belly, a permeating shiver urging him to flex his fingers. His tongue darts out to moisten his lips and he keeps staring back at her, challenging. 

“You can watch the sun set twice in one day,” she reveals, eyes wide. “You just have to jump up as soon as it submerges and you watch it go down again.”

Bellamy laughs heartily, yet again impossibly startled. “I’ll take your word for it.” 

They take a minute to bask in the gentle ripples on the sea surface, the lack of sounds with the exception of the small waves lapping on the bottom of the boat. It’s a full moon tonight. 

“Have you ever been in the water?” asks Bellamy.

“Yes, I have. Haven’t you?” she queries. 

“Only in the river Roma was speared in.” He shudders. “Not the sea.”

“Well, it’s nice. Tell you what, we’ll bring a change of clothes to go in next time.”

Bellamy scoffs. “No, thanks,” he refuses. “I’d still like to keep my limbs intact.”

“There’s nothing that can bite your legs off here,” Clarke assures him. “No radiation. Water’s clean.” When she sees he won’t budge, she adds, “Clean enough to wash off your sins.”

He sobers up. “Right. Like that could ever happen.” 

“It happened with me,” she suggests. “After the fire, I killed two people without knowing if I had a reason to. I choked the first and slit the second’s throat. I’ve left my mother and Wells behind, not even trying to search for them since the Ark came down, see if they’re dead or alive.”

She makes a pause and Bellamy considers her, coming to the realization he never actually thought she’d leave the rig in search of Abby Griffin. Clarke’s too important here and her role has been pretty evident since they arrived. She has the mind of a leader, strategic, quick and practical. He’s often observed Luna consult with her and put her in charge of some of the most significant tasks on the rig. 

She might not have consciously chosen them, but Bellamy can tell this is her people now, the way he could tell when his people were chosen for him. 

Clarke speaks again, capturing his full attention. “If you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you.”

“I’ve done things, Clarke. Let people die, too. I - I shot Chancellor Jaha.” She doesn’t look surprised. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

She nods. They stay a little longer, cherishing the quiet. 

After they return and Bellamy goes to head for his room, she stops him with a call to wait. She approaches him with a hesitance in her step, as if she has to get a last thing off her chest to succumb to sleep. 

“I’m glad you’re here,”Clarke admits, making warmth spread all over him. 

“I thought you didn’t lik-” Three fingers touch his lips, hushing him. He has this longing to move his mouth and devour them one by one, to eat her up like a long awaited dessert. She slides her hand down his chin, nails caressing the column of his throat in a touch so subtle and alluring he has to fight a violent shudder. 

She kisses him. She rises on her toes until he can recover from his shock and bend down to take her lips into his mouth, suckling, the bottom one at first and both of them when he feels like he can’t possibly get enough of her. Her fist gets tangled in his hair as he touches her ribs and they melt into one another, ravenous, yearning to uncover and explore, to disassemble and unravel all that they’re made of until the put each other back together. 

She pulls away to wish him goodnight, chest heaving against his own. 

They take the boat again and again, night after night. 

On their third trip, they bring a blanket and clothes with them and Clarke jumps in the water without warning, sending up drops of water. Admittedly, she gives him a fright when her head doesn't emerge from the surface, but then she squeals and laughs and tugs at his arm in willingness.

“Come on,” she dares. 

The dive is an experience he already knows will stay etched on the back of his brain for many years to come, a memory to rouse whenever forgetting what being alive feels like. The cold hands of the ocean grip at his lungs until a voice implores to let them embrace him and set him on fire underwater, against all odds.

Every fibre of his being craves more, more, more.

Clarke weaves her fingers into his when he comes up for air, laughing and it's the best sound he's heard all day. They help each other up the boat, clothes dripping and heavy. Clarke's flimsy nightdress sticks to her skin and Bellamy's insatiable gaze traces her curves from top to bottom. If he were an artist like her, he would take his time painting them so he could drag out his touch for as long as he wished.

His palm burns her calf and her breath hitches in her throat. It makes a cold wet trail up her knee, pausing at her thigh and on impulse his warm mouth follows the path his hand paved, scattering butterfly kisses at her ankle and moving to her core. She whispers his name like it’s a poem, a wind that combed the waves of the sea to get here.

His self-discipline shatters into a million pieces and he allows them be snatched and carried away by the ocean in her eyes. 

He makes her cry out with his mouth and his fingers, breathes her in until he’s intoxicated from how much this truly is. The heat in the pit of his lower abdomen is smoldering, building up until it sets everything ablaze in its wake.

They undress in the rhythm of their heartbeats, hands fumbling, seeking out, trembling from the cold and the want, nails raking all over skin and swollen lips. He wraps them up in the blanket they carried with them, kisses her and kisses her, lies down on his back and watches, enthralled, as she rises and falls above him, around him. He pushes up into her over and over, fingers anchoring her hips, when she mewls softly and the boat rocks with them. They guide one another with gasps and throaty moans, incoherent nothings and praise. 

They soar together over the edge of the world. Their world. 

After, he catches his breath, forehead pressed against the softness of her breasts, and he hugs her close in the blanket.

 _I’m glad I’m here, too_ , he would tell her if he were in a position to find his voice again.

::

::

::

It goes on like this for the next week and the one after that. They exchange wanton kisses and demanding touches, late night thoughts on the deck when the sea is stormy. They sit shoulder to shoulder next to the fire in the main hall when the drizzle irritates them. They talk about what could have been.

“You would have given me a lot of trouble, I swear it.”

“Only because you would have been a pain in the ass,” she quips. “Do you think we could have led them together?” she adds after two very long minutes. 

“Sure we would.” She would have fit right in with their broken family, already has. Bellamy cards his fingers through her hair, taps his middle one against her temple. “I wouldn’t have had to use _this_ , had you been there. I would have had you for that.”

“The heart and the head,” Clarke sums up, amused.

When things have clicked into place, like the puzzle pieces he and Octavia often picked up from their floor to create an artwork, his sister crosses the sea with Lincoln and turns their world upside down. 

She’s changed, grown out of the little girl who chased butterflies and picked red flowers in the woods, but Bellamy still loves her with all his might. There is a perilous spark in her eye now, a need to create and partake in conflict the remaining of the Hundred have lost interest in by now. 

It takes her one full day to sit down with them without pacing, to feel like she belongs and doesn’t owe it to anyone to catch up with how fast things have progressed. 

Then, the inevitable happens. 

Lincoln and Octavia were held in Camp Jaha for three days, interrogated. The Chancellor never died by Bellamy's hand, but he died nonetheless. Octavia's hate for being locked up unfairly and treated unjustly only grew with the little time she was given to reacquaint herself with them. 

The truth comes out: some of the Ark’s Stations landed successfully, Mecha and Alpha among them and that has caused a riot amongst Skaikru and, by extension, the oil rig. Some of their families are alive and well, searching for them, expecting them. 

“Marcus Kane has expressed his wishes to be in an alliance with the twelve clans, but war is brewing,” Lincoln tells them when he suspects some of them are considering their chances, should they choose to go back. “Skaikru are trusted by no one.”

“Especially after the ring of fire,” Octavia adds with her jaw set. 

“We saw the Ark come down,” Monty realizes, speaking as if in a trance. “It’s been _weeks_.” He shuts his eyes, waits for an answer when he asks about Farm Station. 

Octavia softens as Harper gives his forearm a supportive squeeze. “We haven’t heard anything yet.”

Miller kicks a pile of logs with a grunt and storms off, screaming at thin air down the corridor.

Luna brings back some type of temporary order as soon as she hears, giving them an ultimatum. 

“You either stay here, in peace, or you compromise it and never come back.”

Bellamy doesn’t know what to do. He’s losing control. He climbs up the observatory and finds Clarke already seated, staring straight ahead at nothing. Her chin trembles a little, but she presses her lips and her fists together, takes a deep breath. 

Bellamy is the first to break through the silence. “What do I do? Put it to a vote?” he wonders. The idea rings absurd even in his own ears. He knows that will only create more conflict and they will lose valuable time. Clarke believes so, too.

“You’d have to make them see they have no choice,” Clarke advises. “Being happy about reuniting with their families could be short-lived. They could be marching back into war. We don’t even know if all of them are alive.”

“What if some of them go?” Bellamy presses, running a distressed hand over his already dishevelled hair. “They’ll just think I’ve abandoned them.”

Clarke looks ahead once more, squinting a little at the sunlight. “It’s getting late,” she says, standing up on her feet, absentmindedly smoothing out her pants. “Dad and I have to make a choice, too.” She begins climbing down the ladder, stops only when he calls her name.

“I got a letter,” she announces. “From Mom. Nathan got one as well.” Bellamy curses.

“What did it say?” he asks. 

“To stay. That things are not looking good for now.” 

Before he can say something to that, she disappears. 

::

::

::

In the end, some of them do choose to go. It’s only seven out of the initial Hundred, five of them younger than Jasper and Monty, homesick. Lincoln and Octavia take it upon themselves to give them safe passage across the sea and across the land as well, to lead them to the location the adults have set camp in.

Miller doesn’t come to say goodbye when a group of fifty forms a circle around them to envelop them and wish them luck. 

Bellamy thinks he sees Raven cry.

 _May we meet again,_ they say. _May we meet again,_ Bellamy echoes for a second time in the span of only three months, nose buried in the intricate braids Octavia’s hair is woven into, and, this time around, he doesn’t know if they shall.

One last look at Octavia and he thinks he might just let insanity engulf him. In a matter of thirty-six hours, Bellamy finds and loses her again and then loses the ground under his feet, too.

Raven gives the group of nine one of the radios she’s been fixing. Luna passes a linen sachet bag to Lincoln with a nod, holds his gaze a little longer than necessary.

“Powder for blue fire. If you have company,” she explains. 

"Let's hope that we won't."

Their departure sets the whole rig into motion. The sailing training becomes more intensive, the lessons more frequent. They learn to work as a crew on board, a dynamic they hadn’t built before Octavia’s brief visit that troubles and bewilders Bellamy.

“Luna’s finally made the decision to go,” Clarke says with an excitement Bellamy can’t share. In fact, he's terrified. He recalls hearing her mention the possibility once, but never thought much of it.

“Go where?”

“Lexa knows where we are and that means the next Commander will, too. Even though Luna run from her Conclave, an act of treason for the clans, she made an agreement with Lexa. But Lexa won't always be the Commander." 

All Bellamy can think is that they're eager to leave. To leave Octavia in a world they tore apart, where others are paying the price for them.

"We knew the rig wouldn't be safe for long. We've been preparing." 

"What about my sister?" he asks, defensive, putting space between them.

Clarke hesitates. "We'll wait. We'll wait to see the green fire."

So wait they do.

They are all informed about the possibility of abandoning the rig during dinner. Bellamy's eyes search for Miller, for Monty and for Harper, who chose certainty with their chosen family over misplaced hope with their real one, but they seem to be taking the announcement well enough, probably already aware by the looks of it.

Bellamy's antsier than usual, spends more time on the observatory with a set of binoculars by his side. He gets a map in his hands, too, so he pours all of his energy in formulating a plan and drawing six possible routes. At nightfall, they gather around a table and discuss, analyze all the different versions in painstaking detail.

It triggers a new round of horror stories about cyclones, whirlpools and bloodthirsty pirates, and a round of unrealistically ideal scenarios, too.

“Let’s be pioneers!” Jasper sputters. 

Bellamy and Clarke don’t go swimming with the boat again, but they still meet every night, when everyone is tired from the day’s physical and mental exertions and quietness ensues, enveloping the rig. It is strange to think that a place made so lively by their arrival will be vacated at such a short notice. 

A week and a half passes and still no sight of a fire. 

“What happens if it’s blue?” Bellamy quizzes. “The fire.”

Clarke’s silent, like he predicted she would be. She takes a deep breath and stares him dead in the eye. “Then we leave,” she reveals honestly. “Octavia knows that. Blue means trouble, if not a fight none of us is willing to give.”

Bellamy knows that she’s wrong, that this is a lie she probably never meant to tell. He would always fight for Octavia to be safe as Clarke would for her mother, if the opportunity presented itself at her. 

"We'll go back for them, when things get better," Clarke murmurs. Bellamy suspects it's something she herself needs to hear.

“If Octavia radios back and tells me she’s on the other side,” he begins. “I'm going.” Clarke opens her mouth to oppose him, but he goes on before she has the chance. “I don’t want you to wait for me. I won’t blame you if you don’t. Your people depend on you. I know that.”

“You are my people,” she counters, voice wavering. Bellamy runs his thumb over her chin and her mouth, collects the damp sweat from the side of her face. 

“My person,” she insists, like she fears he won’t believe her, fears he won’t see what she sees when their hearts dance at the same beat.

“The heart and the head, right?” he says lightly and leans forward to taste her watery smile, swallow her laugh and make it his own. 

“The heart and the head,” she mouths, like a secret meant to titillate his soul only, leaning into him. 

“Now let’s be pioneers,” she whispers in his ear, cheeky grin and all. 

The great unknown awaits.

::

fin.

::


End file.
